


Weren't Black Cats Unlucky?

by MyBlackCrimsonRose



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Blood, Coma, Doctor! Tsukishima Kei, Drowning, Established Relationship, Kuroo with CIP, M/M, Major Character Injury, Police Officer! Kuroo Tetsurou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlackCrimsonRose/pseuds/MyBlackCrimsonRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like he was eight again; back at the beach with Kenma and Mom. </p><p>It was like he couldn’t catch a breath; his limbs so tired that he couldn’t keep himself above water. Couldn’t catch that breath of oxygen that his body so desperately needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Congenital insensitivity to pain (CIP), also known as congenital analgesia, is a condition where a person cannot feel (and has never felt) physical pain. 
> 
> This is one of my favourite headcanons for Kuroo. If you'd like to talk more about it with me I'd love to hear anything and everything (even headcanons not about CIP). You can find me @shadowsheyla (on tumblr).

His legs gave out, his body collapsed. Falling with a clatter of glass and knickknacks—his boss would kill him. It was most likely shock; his brain registering that something wasn’t right. Chest heaving, shaking, as he drew his breath. His vision shifted, spinning as the world seemed to slow. Maybe it was just him, maybe it was just in his head, but…

As a child he loved the water, he still did, but it was relentless. It held no bias, it was cold and ever consuming. Pouring into your nose and mouth, cutting off your oxygen and slowly filling up your lungs with water. Kuroo, despite this first-hand knowledge, loved it all the same. It was cruel, it was unbribed—it was just something that could happen (that _did_ happen).

On the fourth exhale he felt it; the warm liquid pooling, oozing out of his mouth as he coughed. Drooling all over his chin, his lovely violet button-up. It was his fiancée’s favourite. Two answering shots finally rang, making him flinch. Pulling him from his out-of-body-experience.

_Shit._

He was coughing it out as much as it was pouring in; filling, spilling. His partner took his head into their hands, another set pressing against his wounds. Multiple—that would explain it. The room spun; “Get them in here NOW!” Ambulance, right? He could really go for one right about now.

_Just don’t bring me to Kei’s hospital. He’s working a twelve hour shift._

His inhale garbled, wet. He could feel something rattling in there along with the _lovely_ feeling of liquid collecting. His partner, bless that faithful Daichi, wiped the mess from his chin only to smear it across the better half of his lower face. “Don’t you fucking dare, you cat-looking bastard,” the man cursed him out. Holding his face steady when he began to fade out, face tilting, growing limp.

Kuroo hacked again, splattering the still crimson liquid against his partner’s face. _Sorry buddy,_ he’d say it if he could. Say he had a lil’ something on his face instead of just coughing again. They were coming slower. It was like he was eight again; back at the beach with Kenma and Mom.

It was like he couldn’t catch a breath; his limbs so tired that he couldn’t keep himself above water. Couldn’t catch that breath of oxygen that his body so desperately needed. Like then he felt himself lifted; no pain. Never any pain.

Kuroo _couldn’t_ feel pain. Pressure, touch—yes. It was only lucky that he had planned on marrying a doctor—Dr. Kei Kuroo. Dr. Kei _Tsukishima_ -Kuroo. After all they never did yet settle if he was adding or trading in a name.

A flash of white pulled him out of his musing, nothing, and then another flash of light. Kuroo squinted, vision coming back to him for a moment. Slipping back into himself in the back of the ambulance—yes, he knew this sight. Was rather familiar with that shade of faded pink hair too. Makki needed to re-dye that. “Just hang on,” he picked up, “almost there.”

_Don’t you make him go through surgery on me again. Don’t you do that._

[-]

Tsukishima was just grabbing his fourth cup of coffee when one of the nurses came running into the breakroom. Auburn hair a mess of fly-aways, coming loose from her bun. She stopped dead when she spotted him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Doctor,” she whispered, glancing around finally at the rest of the occupants.

She licked her lips, eyes darting back to him before glancing back to the door. Waving him to follow her out. Tsukishima brought his coffee with him; there was no emergencies to respond to, nothing to be leaving his fresh coffee alone over. Her little legs seemed to blur as she sped along the hallways, through twists and turns. Tsukishima following her, a growing sense of _wrong_ building.

She led him towards ICU, only stopping when she met with one of the other doctors working that night. Dr. Akashi waved him into the room, bidding good-bye to the nurse who had led Tsukishima there. He followed his colleague in; his feeling was correct. Paired with the crescendo of a shattering mug, Tsukishima numbly stepped over the puddle to cross the distance to stand beside the patient’s bedside.

“We just moved him out of surgery.” Dr Akashi began explaining. Tsukishima picked up the key pieces; two of the bullets pierced a lung, lung collapsed, had to drain it of fluid. Four hours of surgery, complications. Tsukishima cupped the man’s face, minding the tubes protruding from both his mouth and nose. “We… we nearly lost him on the table,” Dr. Akashi spoke frankly, “twice. But he pulled through.”

This would be the moment they’d say the line of _he’s a fighter_ ; “he’s just stubborn,” Tsukishima beats him to it instead. Looking back to his colleague, Tsukishima could see the man growing greyer by the hour. There was no official write up (yet) of Kuroo condition, but they had put him into a medically induced coma—luckily so and not due to prolong lack of oxygen.

Small hopes.

Tsukishima dragged the chair closer to the man’s bedside, taking a seat and the man’s hand. “Thank you,” Tsukishima mumbled, holding up their joined hands and pressing a quick peck to the back of his palm.

Dr. Akashi nodded, slipping back out the door to leave the couple alone. Tsukishima shook his head, “you bastard. I’m going to write you a whole _year_ absent from work.” He had threatened it before, this time he might just do it. He cupped the lower half of his face, dragging his palm upwards, pushing up his glasses. He could feel the moisture gathering at the corners, threatening to spill if he even moved his head.

Why did he fall in love with a man so oblivious to his own health?

“‘ _This is why I’m dating a doctor’_ my ass, Tetsurou.” Tsukishima hissed still forcibly holding back the tears. He let go of his lover’s hand, pulling off his glasses and setting it on the man. Covering his face with large pale hands, his engagement ring reflecting the cold artificial light from overhead. “You’re so _dumb_ ,” he hissed, shoulders shaking. _You’re so fucking lucky_ , his mind supplied. He couldn’t lie to himself like that, not as easily as he once was able to. He cradled his head, leaning further into the side of the bed.

“You better,” his inhale shaky, “wake up soon.” He was going to yell at him; screw the fact that this was a place that he worked. Screw it if he _knew_ Kuroo would no doubt be expecting a good reaming—their roles in these situations long since established. They knew he did it because he needed to, needed to release that frustration and pain of nearly losing someone that he loved before it built up into a mess of stress and rage and pain.

Tsukishima couldn’t do anything here; all he could do was patch him up afterwards, and hold him through the emotional anguish when he lost someone on the job. Just as Kuroo would make sure that he’d eat, bringing him meals on his break or when he had days off, and making sure he slept a decent amount when he was back home. It was all they could do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching Bleach. And by that I mean all of it. I'm finally after the timeskip so yeah. 
> 
> I'm also taking writing commissions, so please look to my tumblr for more information you can find me @shadowsheyla

Kenma leaned in, staring at the man he had long since accepted that he’d never be able to rid himself of. Brushing the man’s mess of a fringe back from his face to press a kiss against his forehead, hesitating before pulling back. He stared down at the black cat stuffed animal tucked between his arm and torso—a sign that his fellow officers had already visited.

It was their _thing_. Leaving Kuroo black cat stuffed animals as a symbol of rehabilitation. Kenma knew that he and Tsukishima had a whole shelf full of these cats on display in their living room; it was hard to miss as it was right above the television. A few even tucked in with the throw pillows on the couches.

It was a joke of their childhood still following after the man everywhere he went. Kuroo the Black Cat. His looks gave off that Cheshire like vibe. And that was even before taking into consideration of his name. _Black tail._

He combed his hands through his friend’s hair, attempting to manage it, yet knowing it was moot. Ever since he’d met Kuroo, the boy’s hair had been a mess of black. A mixture of curled, wavy and straight hair—none of which the man could understand. Was his hair curly? Was it wavy? Was it straight?

Kenma turned, looking towards the door at the sound of stilled steps. “Kei,” Kenma greeted, patting his unconscious childhood friend one last time before moving aside to allow the man’s fiancée through.

Tsukishima slipped through the space between the small man and the bed, taking his seat beside the bed. His cup of coffee cupped between both hands; he’d be here well into the night again—until the staff would make him return home for an hour or two of sleep so he could do it all again.

The medical induced coma was doing what it was meant to do—help Kuroo heal. But the word itself, _coma_ , was nothing to sneeze over. It was a frightening word, and despite Kuroo’s long history of luck, things could still go wrong. “How is he?” Kenma inquired, the pair staring at the man in the hospital bed.

“He’s regained some colouring to his cheeks,” Tsukishima took a sip of his beverage, “it’s promising.” As a doctor things were looking up, but as the man’s lover he had a right to be concerned. He’d be worried until the day Kuroo is let out of the hospital—there was no words that Kenma could express that’ll lessen his worries. Along with Bokuto, the two currently present were the ones that knew him best. There was nothing at this point that Kenma could do other than provide comfort.

“When was he scheduled to come to?”

Tsukishima shrugged, another sip. “Maybe next week. We’ll see based on him though.” It was just a waiting game now. Tsukishima was forced to take time off work due to this, though he’s technically _at_ work (his mind is very much not).

[-]

Bokuto was finally able to arrive shortly after Kuroo woke up; the man had been out of the country with his (now) husband celebrating their honeymoon. Two weeks’ worth of it seeing as Bokuto had the time off from coaching at the University and Akaashi had made sure all of his lectures for those two weeks were recorded and up on the same University’s website. A coach and a professor at the same University in Tokyo. It was a sweet story that Kuroo loved telling; from the time those two had met to the day they got married. It was his second favourite aside from Kuroo’s own relationship tale.

Bokuto tucked another black cat stuffed animal, this one supporting a lovely stereotypical French mustache with his barrette and striped shirt, a small army of black cat stuffed animals were situated around Kuroo’s hospital room from friends and family whom have long since embraced the tradition. Kuroo blinked, smiling tiredly up at his friend. His face tucked against Tsukishima’s shoulder; he had whined enough to convince his lover to slip in alongside him in the too-small hospital bed.

“How are you feeling?” Bokuto asked, much like everyone else. At least he knew (and remembered) that the man had CIP.

“Tired,” Kuroo mumbled back. His body still heavily sedated, still recovering from the medically induced coma. Bokuto sat close to the man’s legs, checking quickly to make sure he wasn’t sitting on anything important, before reclining and lazing overtop of both Tsukishima and Kuroo’s legs. “How was the honeymoon?”

Bokuto smirked, reaching out to pat Kuroo’s knee. “Awesome. Paris is really cool even though Keiji had to do all the talking—but _wow_ , French sounds really sexy.” He waggled his brows, winking at his best bud. “But I’m a little pissed that I didn’t hear about your whole,” he gestured to the hospital room, the injured man in bed, everything, “ _thing_ until we were already back on Japanese soil.”

Kuroo grunted, nuzzling his face against his lover’s boney shoulder. He couldn’t really answer it; he didn’t have any say in whom was contacted and at what time. His whole job was just to lay in the bed and… y’know, not die. “You should sleep,” Tsukishima stated, curling his fingers in the man’s mess of hair. Insuring that his growing limpness wouldn’t cause the man to slip from his comfortable position.

“Tis rude,” the man mumbled, voice thick. His body lulling itself back to sleep.

Bokuto’s fingers curled, clutching onto the pale sky blue blanket. “When did he wake up?” He released his hold on the fabric, smoothing it out. Crisp and even over Kuroo’s legs.

“Late last night.”

Bokuto nodded; more to himself than in answer. The man needed his sleep, there wasn’t much else for him to do other than that. Sleep would help his body heal—nothing else would do. “Do you mind if Keiji stops in in a few hours? He told me to go on ahead to make sure he was stable.”

 _Can I stay?_ The question so obvious that despite the heavy atmosphere, Tsukishima released a snort. A chuckle. A small spread of his lips up into a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure he’d enjoy the attention. But I can say how long he’ll sleep for—he’s an old man now. They need their rest.”

Bokuto snickered, grip returning on the blanket. Fabric bunching under his clutches. Tsukishima didn’t comment when the man’s head bowed, nor when his snickering broke in a soft sob. The blue fabric drinking up the moisture.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to kill him, but around the point that I reached the moment he'd die I was like "meh fuck it." So you're lucky.


End file.
